


Vincent, Redefined - Part 2

by banquos_ghost, TheArtOfBlossoming



Series: Vincent, Redefined [2]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Addiction, Awkward Sexual Situations, Based on actual gameplay, Bi-curious, Bisexual Male Character, Companions, Explicit Sexual Content, Fallout 4 - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sexual Experimentation, Spoilers, Swearing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, bereavement, relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-27 13:08:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8402878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/banquos_ghost/pseuds/banquos_ghost, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArtOfBlossoming/pseuds/TheArtOfBlossoming
Summary: The Sentinel General has come so far but now that the Commonwealth is finally starting to come together, it is all catching up with him and he himself is starting to come apart.





	1. Vincent's Log 17

**Author's Note:**

> The second instalment of 'Vincent, Redefined', follows the journey of the Sole Survivor after the main Fallout 4 storyline. This is based on the author's actual gameplay, fulfilling that need for more roleplay!

*Personal Log [date redacted] 3.24am * What am I doing? Hypocrite. So damn noble, helping those kids get clean yet here I am making excuses.

Shit. Didn’t know Preston had it in him to scare me like that. Gonna have words with Mac in the morning. Who drank all the whiskey? Oh, there y'are. Well, here’s to you Vault-Tec, for screwing things up. An’ this one here’s for the Army for starting me on this combat-enhancing garbage. Cheers.

……Maxson, you son of a… you keep Tess chained up in that balloon and dangle it right before my eyes. I need you here, Tess, away from all that…that duty and fixing and…but I can’t have you here. Probably wouldn’t want me in this state so I’ll just talk to you from way over here.

I can’t handle this. Hell, I’m gettin’ blind drunk. *click*


	2. Ingram's Letter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile, on the Prydwen...

>To: Elder Maxson MK-001E  
> From: Proctor Ingram IG-444PR

Elder Maxson,

Sentinel Vincent has retrieved plans for automated manufacturing machines (weaponry, ammunition, clothing and food processing) and has suggested using the Boston Airport courtyard to establish a factory warehouse.

Having evaluated this proposal with Knight-Sergeant Gavil, it has been deemed sound. Considerations: initially it requires several salvage sorties to gather raw material for construction and initial production. Thereafter, Proctor Teagan assures me that trade routes are now established well enough to ensure continuous supply.

The Sentinel has also acquired plans to create Vault-Tec quality large fusion generators and has informed me that several have already been set up in settlements across the Commonwealth. This causes some concern, as the construction teams have been sourced from the settlements themselves, generally unskilled laborers following old Vault-Tec manuals. This could potentially lead to a catastrophic breakdown, therefore, Sir, I beg you reconsider your order and allow myself and a small team to go and check each established reactor over 100FP capacity. If they pass our quality control they will be guaranteed for 150+ years, barring external physical damage, needing the minimum of maintenance.

May I also remind you that since the defeat of the Institute and the alliance with the Minutemen, we have received ample numbers of new recruits. I have trained up three maintenance crewmembers to such a degree that my presence on the Prydwen is no longer essential.

Ad Victoriam, Sir, Proctor Ingram  
***[end internal mail] >

>From: Elder Maxson MK-001E  
>To: Proctor Ingram IG-444PR

Ingram, see me in my quarters at 08:30. You’ll get your reply then. [End]

* * * * * * * * * * *

Proctor Ingram knocked on the thick, metal door. “Enter.” Maxson’s tone was his usual formal address. Gertrude ‘Tess’ Ingram did as she was bid. The Elder stood up as she entered, fully aware that offering a seat to one encapsulated in a power armour frame was futile. Instead, he placed his palms on the table and waited for Ingram to face him.

“Sir.” “Ingram. Your proposal has got my attention. However, I am reluctant to allow you to do field work when you have three trained crewmembers who could surely do the job?“

“With respect, Elder, the crew have been trained, in great detail, for the maintenance of the Prydwen. They do not possess the exact skills needed for fusion reactor quality control, something I have studied at length.”

Maxson huffed out a sigh, sat down and lit a cigar. “Gertrude, I hope you understand that it has not been my intention to lock you up here in the Prydwen. I appreciate that your ample skills are not being fully utilised here. I am also aware that Knight-Captain Cade is concerned for your mental well-being. Therefore, I have no choice but to allow - under protest, I might add - your request; on one condition.”

Ingram immediately brightened at these words. The thought of a change of scenery, much as she loved ‘ol’ Handsome’ (The Prydwen, that is) lifted her spirits. Maxson had used her first name, an unwritten code that he was giving her permission and the honour of using his.

“Thankyou, Arthur, this means a great deal to me. The condition…?” Maxson blew a stream of smoke out through his nostrils. “..is that you report to the Sentinel-General and allow him to accompany you at all times. Is that understood?”

“Yessir. Absolutely, Elder.” Inside, Tess was mentally jumping up and down for joy! To be given freedom and actually ordered to be with the one man she most desired to be with? The joy and relief must have sneaked onto her face as Maxson looked at her, gave a brief half-smile and quietly added, “Most welcome, Sister.” Tess knew that Maxson cared deeply for her. She was older than he by a good decade and a half. It was unspoken between them but when he called her ‘sister’ he meant it as if she were an older sibling. She suspected that he knew full well what she and Vincent meant to each other, though they’d barely been together for long. That, happily, was about to change.


	3. Flashback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A peep at life before the world blew up.

Vincent sat in the small, bleak waiting room, fingering his wedding ring, his heel beating a fast, involuntary rhythm on the floor. He fidgeted in the light brown civilian suit, unused to its grip on his muscular frame. He huffed at the irony that he was more comfortable in uniform.

A nurse peeked around the door. “Staff Sergeant Hudson?” Her cheery smile faded a little as she noticed the ring on his hand. “The doctor will see you now.”

Vincent stood and followed the nurse through to Dr. McKinley’s office. The slight, balding doctor adjusted his round spectacles and offered his hand. “Good to see you, Sergeant.”

Vin hesitated. The doc would feel how much he was trembling. Aw, hell, that’s why he was here, wasn’t it? He accepted the handshake. “You too, doc.”

“Please, take a seat.” Vin obliged, trying to contain the muscle spasms in his leg. Why did just the right one do this, he wondered? “Well now,” continued the doctor, “go over your symptoms.”

The retired Staff Sergeant, decorated war hero and combat drug guinea pig proceeded to list his numerous symptoms. The tremors, sweats, nightmares, flashbacks, insomnia, cravings…

A quick check over, heart, blood pressure, the usual. “Hmm.” The doctor leaned on his clipboard, wrote a few notes and then turned to his terminal and clacked out some instructions onto the black screen. “Yes, this should help.” He wrote a prescription out on a pad, tore it off and handed it to Vincent. “Two weeks worth of Buffout. Take care now to follow my instructions. It’s important to taper down the dosage to wean you off. As for the Post Combat Stress, well, getting clean should help. Otherwise, we usually recommend getting back into the swing of things. Avoid alcohol for the most part. Take your wife out, enjoy some of the finer things in life. It will soon dissipate.”

Vincent recalled Nora’s insistent question. “How about..uh…starting a family, doc?”

“Oh, I’d wait a good six months after you finish the weaning dose of Buffout. Give those little soldiers a chance to recover, eh?” the doctor said with a grin. “Listen, Sergeant Hudson. You’ve served your country well, you deserve every happiness now. I do wish yourself and Mrs. Hudson all the very best.”

He patted Vincent on the arm, a friendly gesture as McKinley had been his doctor since he’d joined the service as a young and eager lad. “Come and see me again in three months.”

Vincent walked out of the doctor’s office and made a bee-line for the nearest liquor store to buy Bourbon and cigars, desperately wishing to settle into a normal, civilian life.


	4. Purging Ghosts I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A collaborative piece of work. MacCready was written by banquos_ghost and Vincent by TheArtOfBlossoming.

### Part One, _'Praepara Te'_

I winced when I saw Vin’s face. So, Preston had confronted him, that much was plain. Might as well get the first words in, maybe Vin would understand why I did it, why I told Preston about Mama Murphy. At the very least I’d be able to gauge his mood.

‘I’m sorry Vin, I know, I know, I shouldn’t have told Preston, but I was worried about you,' my mouth felt dry as I struggled for words. Running tattle-tale to Preston wasn’t exactly the way to curry favour with Vin, but I needed to make him understand that I was desperate, no clue how to help him on my own.

"Damn right, you shouldn't have gone behind my back. This is my battle, not yours, kid," Vincent spoke in a low growl, almost hiding the tremble in his voice.

My eyes feel tired and gritty. Sleeping in that cold cellar wasn’t the best idea I’d ever had. I try to gather my tattered wits about me, Vin is not in forgiving mood, that much is clear. I’m going to have to tread carefully. ‘Vin, please…’ _yeah, way to go Mac, wheedling.. that’ll win him over_. I curse myself and clear my throat. Try to drop the pitch of my voice to a calming tone that I’ve heard the caravan drovers use on the Brahmin. _So, Vince is Brahmin now?_. Well, he’s certainly built like one. ‘Vin…’ Jaysus do I sound dorky with that low pitched voice. At least he looks slightly less angry now. Though that could just be a trick of the light. ‘Vin…’ Nothing like simple repetition to break the ice. ‘Vin, it’s not a battle, or it doesn’t need to be.’ There. I actually said something that made sense. And Vin hasn’t decked me yet. I’m winning.

"You have no idea, MacCready. What I've seen...what I've done...before I even set foot in that damned freezer. I've been fighting this battle for so damned long, so don't you go thinkin' you can just fix this by rounding up the cavalry." Vincent's voice rose toward the end. He stood and put one arm on the cold brick wall and Mac could see that he was shaking.

‘I _don’t_ think I can fix this…’ I glance at Vin, sidelong, not wanting to meet his eye. ‘What do you want me to do though, not even bother to try? Sorry, bud, it doesn’t work like that. You helped me. You helped Preston. We want to help you. That’s all. At least let us try, or are you going to be a selfish asshole and not even let us do that for you?’

'Vincent straightened and turned to look MacCready in the face through his hung-over, bloodshot eyes. "Selfish? You think I'm being selfish, here, _'bud'_? Well, forgive me for tryin' to protect you again. You don't need to see me like this." Vincent sat down heavily on the edge of his bed, noticeably making an effort to calm his breathing. "...but...I suppose it's too late for that now. Shit. Sorry Mac."

After a moment, he added, "Nora used to call me an asshole, too, when I got like this."

A tense silence filled the partitioned-off corner of the General's Quarters that Vincent used as a private bedroom. When he finally spoke again, Mac had to strain to hear. "During the war....they tested combat drugs on some of us. I was one of the first officers they chose. They tried Psycho on me first, in the field. It didn't sit well with me at all. I was a monster that day. Did things I still have nightmares about and they made me a war hero for it. Luckily Doc McKinley stepped in and forced them to withdraw me from the Psycho program. He argued against any further drug testing on me but they didn't have enough experienced candidates so they switched me to Buffout. I'd tried it at the gym once but it wasn't until they fed me the refined, stronger type that I got hooked. When I left the army, I left the drugs. Mainly 'cause Nora threatened to refuse to get pregnant until I was clean, so I made do with whiskey instead." Vin sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I can't handle this anymore, Mac. People lookin' to me as if I were a hero when I'm just barely gettin' through each day. Nora's in the ground and Tess is in the sky, here I am stuck between 'em, lookin' for my next fix. I'm supposed to be a guy worth looking up to. What a crock o' brahmin shit."

I make a low whistling noise sucking air through my teeth, trying to digest what I just heard. Well, my tactics seemed to have worked. Maybe a bit too well. Vin is right about one thing. I don’t need to see him like this. I’ve placed him on a pedestal. Seeing him so vulnerable is uncomfortable. Well, no, uncomfortable was that damn bed last night. This is more than uncomfortable. This is like being a kid seeing an adult cry. The natural order of things upset, the leader we all look up to laid low. Shit. I wish Proctor Ingram was here. I’m a poor substitute. I reach out my hand, gingerly touching Vin on the arm. Hoping words will start to flow once I’ve grounded myself on him. Despite his despair I still draw strength from feeling his warm solidity under my hand.

‘Vincent, please. People want to help you. They _need_ to help you. They owe you, and want to repay you it’s as simple as that. You can beat this, just as you’ve helped others get clean, we can help you.’ Silence. My words seemingly making zero impression on Vincent. And, predictably, I fill the void with bullshit. ‘Unless you’ve fallen for your own hype, and think you’re somehow beyond the reach of simple Commonwealth folk like us… That the Sentinel General is too high and mighty to take help from friends. C’mon Vincent… Sir.. we both know that’s not the case. ’ I was on risky ground again, damn I just couldn’t help putting my foot in it. Vincent might be a friend, but he was still my superior officer first and foremost.

"You're right. We are friends. Best friends, you've said so yourself in the past...so drop the 'Sir' here, OK?" Vincent hardly moved, didn't shift under MacCready's hand but looked up at him from under his thick brows, studying Mac's face to check that it matched his words. "Look, brother, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dump my two hundred year old baggage on you. It's just...it's all starting to catch up on me. The more settlements we set up, the safer things start to feel, the more emotional crap that I've pushed back starts to ambush me. I'm trapped in a nightmare when people all round me are smiling and patting me on the back. Geez, look Mac, you don't have to stay and listen to my crap. Go and eat something, I heard the breakfast bell."

I feel relief wash over me at Vincent’s shift in mood, and a little frisson of pleasure at his words. _Best friends_. At the mention of the breakfast bell my body responds with rather pathetic predictability and my empty stomach starts to make its presence known with none too subtle rumblings. Which I hope Vin doesn’t hear. No way am I going to allow my stomach to lead me to breakfast and just leave Vin sitting here. ‘C’mon then. I’ll go if you do. You must be starving.’ I eye the empty bottle of whiskey with what I hope is a conspiratorial air. ‘We can talk while we eat, and why not dump your baggage on me? You had me carrying all your crap while we travelled, what’s changed? I’m happy to share the load now. Come on, a decent meal will do you the world of good.’

Was that a smirk on Vin's face? The two of them headed down the hall to The Mess. More like a cosy ramshackle café than military feeding hall, it housed both the restaurant and the do-it-yourself cooking stove. "Damn but I'm craving bacon an' eggs right now. Guess its radscorp omelette then. Think I have enough ingredients to whip two up, how about it, Mac?"

‘Yeah, that would hit the spot alright. And you’re cooking? I’m honoured.’ I grabbed a plate and went to get a couple of hot drinks. Preston approached me as I made my way back to the table, his plate stacked enviably high with an array of breakfast foods. ‘How’s the Sentinel-General this morning, Knight-Major MacCready?’ Preston lowered his voice so I had to strain to hear him above the din of the Mess. I also spoke with subdued tones. Didn’t want Vincent’s private business bandied about the rank and file. ‘He’s not great, but I think he’s ready to open up to us. He was talking about his pre-vault days and I’ve got to be honest Preston, I need your help. Please, come and sit with us.’ Preston readily agreed and we returned to the table next to the cooking stove.

‘C’mon Vincent, ‘ I directed my shout at Vincent’s back as he shook the frying pan over the flames, ‘You cooking that omelette or cremating it?’ The smell of burning radscorpion omelette was starting to tickle my nostrils. Vincent turned and apologetically eased the omelette on to my plate with a spatula, un-sticking it from the pan with a sigh. It was certainly ‘well done’ in places but I was hungry enough not to care either way. I guess the charred bits would add some welcome flavour. I should probably be polite and wait for Vincent to start eating before I dig in, but to hell with that. By the time Vincent sat down with his own omelette mine was nearly finished. Vincent was chasing the last pieces of omelette round his plate with a fork by the time I summoned up the courage to speak to him, having waited in vain for Preston to break the ice. ‘How are you feeling now, Vincent?’ I waited expectantly for his reply.

Vincent looked up from his plate, noted the last two Minutemen whose names he'd forgotten going out of the door. He spoke to Foster the barkeep: "Give us the room." "Certainly, Sir." He switched off the Open sign and closed the door behind him. The final charred piece of omelette went before Vincent looked up. "Sorry I burned it, Mac. I'm usually a really good cook...if I do say so myself. Morning, Preston." Vincent slumped at the table, now that there was no-one else in the room to put on a brave face for. "I have to apologise, to both of you. As for how I'm feeling? I'm feeling too much. It's rushing at me so fast I feel like the time I was chased down Old Gullet Sinkhole by a Deathclaw, except that my demons don't go down with a couple o' two mil." No-one jumped in to the silence as Vin gave up the last shreds of his façade and put his head into his hands. "I need help," he mumbled.

I scooted round so that I was close enough to Vincent to place a gentle arm around his shoulder. ‘You’ve got our help. Anything, we’ll work through this together. Won’t we...?’ I met Preston’s eye. ‘Of course we will. Just let us know how we can help…’ Preston added. My arm remained resting on Vin’s shoulder. I sat quietly for a few moments, half expecting him to shrug my awkward embrace off. Time passed. My arm still rested on Vin’s shoulder as it rose and fell with each breath. Outside the noises of Minutemen going about their daily business continued. The occasional admonishment and shush-ing drifted through the background hum. People trying to give Vin the space and peace he needed. They all understood in some unspoken way that some serious shit was going down in The Mess right now. Except it wasn't . Preston and I sat staring at each other like two frightened radstags waiting for Vin to speak again.

Eventually, MacCready and Preston heard Vincent's voice. Not the strong, commanding timbre that they were used to, nor the stealthy whisper or slightly high pitched tone of surprise. This voice quavered. It was weak and distant, more like that of an old man than the fit, muscular physique in its prime, trembling slightly under MacCready's arm. "I wasn't strong enough. I pounded that glass hard as I could but it didn't break. I couldn't save them. Bastards stole my family, stole my chance at fatherhood. Hell, even stole the name 'Father' and gave it to what they made out of my own flesh and blood. He hated me at the end, you know? He was dying, defeated and... no man should ever have to end their own child....but I had to. Had to put him down like a feral hound.....and that after I betrayed the Railroad. Keep telling myself I had no choice but the thread of my decisions is unravelling. There had to have been some other way. I was being pulled apart by my allegiances and something had to give. I almost ran. Made a bullseye..ah shit. That was my codename....I headed straight for P.A.M. and dispatched that fancy computer but then I left. Or tried to. I had to go back in and slaughter them all." Vincent's head hung low, defeated by his past. "It never changes. Start out a soldier thinkin' you're fighting for freedom and justice, end up a murderer doing someone else's dirty deed." His voice rose on a wave of anger. "I'm done. Why should I carry on, hey? Answer me that? Why shouldn't I just go hide and throw all my caps away on chems until I'm just one of those skeletons in a bathtub? Why?" Vin was now trembling violently, a shot up engine waiting to explode.

Those questions. I have no answers for them. I understand. Haven’t I fought similar demons these past few years? I wish I could tell Vin things would get better. They don’t, the memories blur, that’s all. We have to forget, or give up. Forget or die. _And sometimes that’s the worst part of all. Because there’s no fucking discrimination, the good memories fade and fray at the edges until you wake up one day and her face is ever so slightly out of focus, receding…_ I’ve got to snap out of these thoughts. It’s not helping and if I continue down that road, Preston would have to pick two broken men up off the floor.

‘You can’t fight it, Vin, you have to come to some sort of peace with your past. First off, you need to kick those damn chems into touch. A little pick-me-up now and then, ain’t no-one bothered about that. You know as well as I do there’s more to it now, Vin. You did what you had to do at the time. Can’t change that now. Let’s get the chems and booze sorted out first. The demons feed on ‘em.’ I was quite proud of that, my so-called _words of wisdom_. ‘Me and Preston, we’ll be with you every step. We gotta get away from here, away from the demands and expectations on you. Let’s go, just the two of us, hit the road, go to Satellite Station Olivia as we’d planned, have a bit of downtime on the journey.’ I realised I wanted Vincent to myself again, just the two of us, his attention just for me and not all these hangers-on. Like it was before. That brotherhood, the bond between us, I missed it. Preston could be my sanity filter. If he thought it a good idea it would help rid me of the nagging feeling that it was my own selfishness driving this plan, rather than pure altruism.

I must have done something right, because Preston was nodding his head, sagely. ‘MacCready, that sounds like an excellent idea. That’s if Vincent is in favour of course?' Vin raised his chin ever so slightly, his gaze flitting between the two men. He had to buy time to work up the courage to sit in that torture chair. The memory of Cait's screams of sudden, forced withdrawal, a merciless detoxification, filled his head again. He started to breathe quickly, sweating. It was only with great self-discipline, a gift from his military school days, that he composed himself enough to address Preston, sounding almost like his usual self. He donned his military cap and suddenly, the Sentinel General was back in the room. "You mentioned that something had come up, Preston? Let me see to that first. I need to do something to scrounge up enough supplies to prepare for a run to '95. Last time it was crawling with Gunners and knowing them, they won't abandon such an excellent tactical position easily. I'll take Major MacCready along, he knows best what we'd be up against."

***

I felt something akin to relief at the way the conversation had gone. Looked like I’d got my wish. It was going to be just the two of us again. Preston was already making noises about fetching maps and organising the logistics. Once we had gathered together our supplies and packed our provisions and ammo, I was almost whistling with happiness. I had to keep reminding myself this was all supposed to be for Vin’s benefit. Not mine. Cosy visions of campfires and evenings drawing out into dawn filled with confiding chats and belly laughs danced through my mind. Of course, Vin would have to lay off the whiskey this time, and I guess I can just stick to the old Nukas to keep him company. I’d be able to have him all to myself most of the time and that would more than make up for it. A slight ripple of concern spread through me. What if I couldn’t cope with Vin off the chems? What if he got too, I don’t even know, but what if he was beyond reaching? Probably best not to think along those lines. Cross that bridge if it ever came to it. No point worrying about what _might_ happen. When I was ready to go I stood waiting for Vin at the entrance to the Castle. Preston ambled over to me, maps and other documents spilling from his grasp. ‘Knight-Major MacCready, do you have everything you need?’ ‘I think so, Preston. Are you sure this is the best plan for Vin?’ ‘It’s exactly what the Sentinel-General needs, MacCready. I have every faith in you…. Don’t let me down, OK?’ Preston’s gentle smile from beneath the peak of his hat belied his words. The man was goodness personified, dang, if he had faith in me all would be well. Preston patted me on the arm, and nodded his head to alert me as he saw Vincent approaching.

"Colonel, Major. All prepped? Good. Okay, MacCready, first stop Satellite Station Olivia. That Courser can't wait. We'll head southwest after that and pick up supplies along the way. I've had a report from Lancer-Captain Kells that the Brotherhood have set up as many checkpoints throughout the Commonwealth as can be spared, that'll make things easier." Vincent took Preston's elbow and lowered his voice. "Check in with Wiseman for me. They lost Deirdre a few days ago. If he needs anything..." Preston looked genuinely saddened. "Of course, I'll see to it, General." He took Vin's arm with both hands. "Good luck out there, my friend. Take care of yourself, okay?" Vincent nodded, gave a small salute and headed out of the castle gate with MacCready in tow.

The journey there was straight forward enough, the raiders taken by surprise and the Courser no match for the two of them working together. The station was full of supplies and useful junk. Mac made jibes about the crap Vin would pick up but he always gave that half-smile, knowing that at some point he'd be making or fixing something essential at a settlement and remind Mac, with an air of smug victory: 'Remember that desk fan you wanted me to 'just leave' or that plunger you threatened to shove up my jetpack? Well, behold!' and there would be a new generator, a fixed turret or a snazzy gun mod. So when Mac spotted Vin taking a sneaky chem so he could carry more stuff, he bit his tongue and remembered his promise to Preston - that he wouldn't force the issue until they got to '95. Still, he'd be keeping an eye out for Buffout and Whiskey and lightly swipe it away before Vin spotted it.

Everything was rolling along just fine until they found the old folks' home. Nothing there but a few bits of salvage and a fusion core in the basement. It was when they went down to the water's edge and Vin spotted three pipes that the journey became less than straightforward. Vincent commanded MacCready to wait on the shore and thankfully it wasn't long before he emerged, soaking wet and wearing a concerned expression. "Follow me, we go in weapons down." Vincent could see that Mac was steeling himself against the prospect of cold, radioactive water. He handed him a Rad-X and took one himself, then plunged straight in. There was an open door in the tunnel. Beyond that, a break in the pipe to an underground room where three guards stood.

'Guards', well they were armed and armoured but all they said was 'Stranger' and 'You..shouldn't be in here.' Since Vincent had been to Covenant previously and passed their 'Safe' test, the so-called guards must have recognised him. Vin told Mac to distract a guard while he picked the lock on the red wooden door. They waltzed through it as if they were expected. An abandoned room yielded a holotape that made Vincent's face go dark. Sneaking round the maze of tunnels, they came to a metal door and heard voices. It was locked, but not for long. The guard and the doctor were a little lost for words when the two of them burst in and refused to talk to them, rudely. MacCready was focussed on distracting the guard when Vincent made a right hash of pickpocketing something from the doc. Before they knew it, bullets and lasers filled the air and once more they knew exactly where they stood.

Efficiently, they dealt with the ill-prepared guards. The elderly doctor in the basement refused to beg for her life and Vincent showed no remorse, though he could have finished her with one less bullet. "Fucking Vault-Tec," was his only mumbled comment. They freed the prisoner who seemed in no fit state to move, so had to leave her there. They ran around the lake as the sun began its descent, came on Covenant from behind and overheard a conversation they shouldn't have been party to. They walked casually through the entrance and chatted to a few of the residents who were trying too hard to be hospitable. Mac was the distraction once more whilst Vin broke into a terminal and found the damning evidence to put pay to the lie of the place. The fight was bloody. None of the settlers surrendered. Wordlessly, callously, Vincent stripped the place of anything and everything that could be salvaged. He bundled up an assortment of gear and practically shoved it at Mac. "We'll sleep here tonight and start taking it all to the Boathouse tomorrow."

There were certainly plenty of beds to choose from in Covenant. An embarrassment of them you could say. In more ways than one. When it came to picking a crib for the night I wasn’t sure whether I should stay in the same room as Vin, or give him some privacy. I was supposed to be keeping some sort of eye on him. With so many chems and bottles of liquor in the loot we’d stacked ready to transport to the Boathouse I was mildly concerned that Vin could be tempted. So, as Vin spread his bed roll on a bed in the Guest House, I spread mine on the adjacent bed. Vin looked up from his task, one eyebrow slightly raised in question. ‘Look, we’ll be safer sticking together. I know this settlement’s deserted and protected with turrets and gates, but you can never be too careful in the Commonwealth. This way we can keep an eye on each other.’ I don’t think my reasoning convinced Vin for one second but he didn’t protest. Merely continued readying himself for sleep. He was certainly in no mood for shooting the breeze so I wished him ‘Goodnight’ and settled myself onto the comfortable bed.

As dawn broke I got up as early as could be justified. Vin had been wakeful all night. Shifting in his bed, mumbling, occasionally snoring. I’d hardly slept at all, but I could be pretty confident that the chems stash hadn’t been raided. And that was enough for me. I made breakfast and brought it in to Vin, who was up and ready to go by the time I presented him with my burnt offerings. He was still taciturn and withdrawn, speaking only to communicate his intentions, and his manner stiffly formal. With our backpacks fully loaded, the seams bulging ominously, we left Covenant. I was relieved to see the back of the once immaculate little settlement, where deep vermilion stains seeped into the dry earth and bullet holes spoke of yesterday’s massacre. We headed east towards Taffington Boathouse. It was only a short distance, through easily navigable scrubby woodland. Although the going was pretty easy with so much loot to lug we had no choice but to rely on a good dose of Buffout to ensure we kept one foot moving in front of the other. Just this once wouldn’t hurt, I told myself. Vin could handle this. Better that than he breaks his back. Where would we all be then?

"So, Mac, no cold turkey for me yet?" Vincent, seeing MacCready's blank stare, realised that the young wastelander probably had no idea what he was talking about. Some expressions had just died in the war, along with all the turkeys. Vin's stomach growled. He'd been looking forward to Thanksgiving dinner before the world blew up. Mac was still staring, quizzically. "I mean, thanks for the Buffout, bud. Not making me give it up totally just yet." Mac just gave a strained nod under his load and Vin just had to indulge in a chuckle at the sight of the encumbered, skinny little man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This collaborative trio of chapters has been so much fun to write! Do please let us know what you think.


	5. Purging Ghosts II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The bond between MacCready and the Sole Survivor of Vault 111 deepens as they approach their goal. Vincent faces enemies...and his own personal demons.

### Part Two, _'Bellum Internus'_

They arrived at the guardpost on the road outside the boathouse. The dark-skinned settler recognised Vincent and a smile spread across his face. "Welcome back, General." "Hey, Denver, wasn't it?" "Yup. Go on in, make yourselves at home. Steven'll be by shortly, he's just farmin'." The boathouse had hardly changed since Vincent had cleared it. He'd barely had time to make anything more of it, so the two settlers kept a low profile until more hands could be spared. It was safe enough, if you didn't stir up the stingwings near the drain.

Vincent and MacCready gratefully shed their burdens and spent a while sorting, scrapping for parts and organising their haul. One thing Vin liked about Mac was that he was tidy. Vincent's military trained mind gave a whole list of reasons why that was a good thing. Right now, it made the task easier. He'd stripped Covenant and abandoned it for good. Preston might argue about the site's potential but Vin just couldn't bring himself to go back. Mac hadn't pushed for conversation and for that, Vin was grateful. He sat quietly and cooked - squirrel soup for the soul. It turned out really well and MacCready asked for a second helping, much to Vin's delight. Denver and Steven left them to it, aside from the occasional pleasantry. Evening rolled in and the two settled themselves in sleeping bags on the creaky floorboards. "We head southwest at first light," Vincent said and was snoring within seconds.

Dawn broke and Vincent became aware of a weight across his shoulder...an arm with a leather cuff and wristwatch dangled in his face.

I hadn’t slept. I was convinced my eyes hadn’t so much as shut… So how the _fuck_ did this even happen? My arm, slung oh so casually around Vin’s shoulders, my body facing towards his. Holy crap. If Vin woke up, what would his reaction be to me fondling him whilst he slept? I was pretty sure I wasn’t ready to find out. I felt Vin stir beneath me. Oh God, please don’t let him be awake. Light was creeping in through the cracks in the wall, and it must have been this that made Vin shift. Yet still my arm lay, it didn’t want to move. It was cosy and it liked being around Vin. Well tough shit, I withdrew the arm and shuffled myself away from Vin. Ah, that was better. A bit of distance between us now. All the better for me to lie awake a little longer and listen to his snoring. Maybe I should just get up. It was Vin himself that had said we’d leave at first light.

I quietly went outside and lit up a cigarette, wanting to let Vin wake on his own. As the hours had rolled by and Vin still snored on my patience started to wear thin. Vin would probably want to be woken. In fact, I reasoned, he’d probably be angry if I didn’t wake him. He was the one that wanted an early start after all. I dithered awhile, my mind making arguments for and against. One particularly loud snore that resonated with the woodwork made my decision easy. For fucks sake… if he carried on like that those stingwings would be buzzin’ in just to see what all the fuss was.

‘C’mon Vin, wakey wakey,’ I was none too gentle waking Vin, I’d been waiting and waiting on him to wake up of his own volition but my patience had worn thin. His snoring had been enough to wake the dead. After the second night in a row with barely any sleep I was feeling under the weather, and short-tempered. We should have been well on our way to Vault 95 by now. _First light_ , that was definitely what Vin had said. Well _I’d_ been up from first light. So, I shook Vin by the shoulder. Probably taking my life in my hands the mood he had been in the past couple of days but now I was too grouchy myself to pussyfoot around. He woke with a groan and I jumped back out of range of his fists. _Just in case_.

‘Gah… what time is it Mac?’ ‘Well past first light… ‘ I still hung back, hesitantly, ‘I err, thought you needed the sleep though.’ Fortunately, Vin seemed unfazed by the ignominious manner of his waking. At least he’d had a good night’s sleep, I thought to myself, a tad bitterly. When Vin asked how my night had been I lied sweetly and told him what a wonderful, refreshing sleep I’d had. Vin was barely keeping himself together, no point prodding the bloodbug’s nest, and the closer we got to Vault 95 the worse it was going to be. Vin could try and hide his reluctance to start the forced detox all he liked, but I wasn’t born yesterday, it’s pretty damn obvious he doesn’t want to do it. From what I heard about it I don’t blame him, but to be honest I’m selfishly glad he’s being silent and stoic, because better that than him crying on my shoulder. There’d be time enough for that once we actually got down to the nitty gritty in 95. As we left Taffington we bade farewell to Denver and Steven who were already going about their daily business. I reckoned that it would take us about a day to reach Vault 95, but of course we would still have to deal with any Gunners that had taken up residence there.

"Here." Vincent shoved a handful of Buffout, Mentats, Med-X and Jet towards MacCready. "Sell 'em, give 'em away or use 'em. Your call."

The Sentinel General continued in taciturn mood, sneaking along as they crossed the river just south of a major Gunner's skyway stronghold. No matter how many times you cleared them out, the cockroaches just kept crawling back. They veered a little far west, trying to avoid conflict and came upon two lakeside holiday cabins near Lake Cochituate. Suddenly, lumbering shapes were rising from the ground and picking up speed inhumanly fast. Feral ghouls. MacCready mock-groaned and told them ( _and silently, his fear of them_ ) to shut up. It was getting dark and Vin wasn't too clear-headed, so the largest feral ghoul dealt him quite a blow. Vincent pulled himself together just in time, beating the feral back far enough for him to fire the killshot. He finished off two more lurking in the cabin from a safe distance and went about searching the deformed remains.

MacCready looked around for Vincent and found him kneeling next to a ghoul corpse, his shoulder sagging out of place, holding a gold pocketwatch and just staring at it. Mac spoke but Vin didn't hear. "These were my neighbors. This was Mr. Sumner....I...Mrs. Sumner had me take this watch into Concord to get it engraved for his retirement. The Parkers, Ms. Rosa and a couple others were taking a vacation here by the lake... I knew these people, Mac...." Vincent just stared at the watch, not even registering his clearly dislocated shoulder. MacCready's worry-lines deepened.

I fumbled in my pack for a stimpak. Applied it to Vin and hoped that it would help. Vin was still staring at the watch. ‘There’s nothing you can do for them, Vin. You’ve probably helped them more than you can imagine by just putting them out of their misery.’ Probably not what Vin wanted to hear, but I found it extremely hard to feel any kind of sympathy for dead feral ghouls. My sympathy was all for Vin, and right now sorting out that shoulder was my number one priority. ‘Forget the ghouls Vin, we are here, and alive. If you keep on stopping we are going to be in all sorts of trouble,’ I mumbled as I applied the stimpak. Vin was still groaning in pain. Whilst stimpaks are effective on most things I could see that I was going to have to somehow pop Vin’s shoulder back in. Oh God. It’s not like I could give him some Jet or anything to ease the pain. ‘Vin… err, your shoulder... do you think I can somehow get it back in without hurting you too much?’

Vincent gritted his teeth. 'Just gimme some goddamn Med-X, Major.'

'Nope, sorry pal, ain't gonna happen. Sir.' I brought my hands tightly around Vin’s upper arms, his eyes were squeezed shut. "Just do what you’ve got to do, Mac.", Vin nodded his head to let me know he was ready. So I did, as quickly as I could and Vin gasped in pain but thankfully his arm was no longer jutting at a weird angle. I administered another stimpak and Vin seemed to rally. Thankfully, as we couldn’t stay here all night, we had to find somewhere safer, closer to Vault 95. This place was too near the water. Sooner or later the mirelurks would be coming out to play and it was getting dark.

We made our way around the perimeter of the lake, creeping for fear of the mirelurks. There were a few deserted cabins we raided for the scant loot. At the far southern tip of the lake a familiar smell filled my nostrils. Rotting flesh. I know Vin smelt it too, his eyes fixed on mine, and we crept forward, even more slowly and quietly than before. Supermutants. We heard them before we saw them. Their stupid, dumb voices arguing over some trivial matter. They were holed up in a tree house structure, and obviously not used to visitors as picking them off from a distance with our rifles was easy. I laughed as they toppled from the boardwalk into the surrounding marsh. I could tell Vin was pleased too, he patted me on the back and we looted the supermutant camp of the meagre loot it held. As we got closer to Vault 95, the landscape changed, and our proximity to the Glowing Sea was apparent by the silhouettes of the dead and twisted trees. This was not a good place to linger. I suggested to Vin that we retrace our steps and stay in one of the cabins we’d passed earlier, one set back from the water which would be less of a mirelurk magnet. It was dark now and Vault 95 was full of Gunners, we needed to recuperate and decide our tactics before we attempted to claim it back.

Vincent concurred. On their way up to the cabin, he busied himself collecting firewood, not saying a word. Mac was right, you didn't have the luxury of stopping to wallow in old memories whilst on the road. They entered the old cabin, piled some furniture across the door and Vincent started a fire in a metal barrel and threaded iguana bits onto sticks, ready to roast. Mac put aside the few belongings he was happy to sleep without clinging to, took off his boots and rubbed his dirty feet with an old bit of rag. "Doesn't anyone wear socks these days?" Vin asked. He must have picked forty or fifty suitcases at least without finding much at all in the way of underwear. 'The things we lost...', he thought to himself, shaking his head.

"Mac. MacCready," Vin said, trying to distract his brother in arms, who was now taking a knife to his toenails, from his pedacure. "Can I ask you something?"

Vincent turned the skewers and placed a pan of water over the fire. Should he ask this of his friend? Was it too personal?

I put the knife down, I was as good as finished anyway, it was more of an excuse to pass the time than a necessity. 'Sure, you know you can ask me anything, Vin.'

"What...what was Lucy like?"

I sat back sharply on an old chair, which creaked ominously as it took my weight. I was not prepared for Vin's question. My gut reaction was to clam up, make a stupid joke to change the topic. This wasn't the time or the place. But if not now, then when? I'd already told Vin he could ask me anything, I just wasn't expecting _that_. 'I err, well, put it this way. She was a good wife, a good mom and a better human being than me in every way possible. I would wake up every morning so happy to find her beside me, yet always at the back of my mind, a nagging thought. What if she ever realised she could do better than a loser like me. Then what?' I swallowed. I was not going to cry. No way. I'd keep this as simple and matter of fact as possible. 'It should have been me that died in that subway station. Not Lucy. Lucy would have been able to help Duncan with his illness. He probably wouldn't even have got ill if she had still been alive. She would be with him now, not like me, pissing my life away hundreds of miles away from where I should be. Why do you ask, Vin?'

"I don't know. I guess I just need someone who knows what it feels like to be a widower. We're both in the dead wives club." Vin winced. "God, sorry Mac. Forget I said that last. The old barracks humor is dirty as shit and you just never shake the stink of it. The army made me who I am but Nora...Nora, she saw past all that bullshit and bravado. She had this way of making me weak as a kitten. Making me feel OK to be vulnerable around her. She was a strong woman, Mac. I miss her." Vincent was clearly trying not to cry but his emotions were given away by his twitching chin.

"Did you bury her? Or...I mean...did you have some kind of funeral for her?"

Despite myself I could feel my brows furrow. _Funeral?_ Was Vin serious? Well, of course he was. I shuddered. I felt somehow remiss. There had been no funeral, burial. Of course there hadn't. All I had wanted to do was get as far away from that subway as I could. I had ran and ran with Duncan in my arms. Vin was still looking at me expectantly. 'No, there was no.. err funeral...' I felt I had to give more, though it was taking all I had not to curl into a foetal position on the floor and sob, 'I'm so sorry about Nora, Vin. She sounds like a wonderful woman. I wish I could have known her.'

The water simmered, untended, on the fire barrel. The neglected iguana bits sat cooling on the plate. Vincent pulled his chair in front of MacCready's and put his large hands on Mac's shoulders. "When you've got me through the detox at 95, Mac, I'm gonna need you to do me one more favor." Vincent paused, searching the younger man's eyes as if making sure that all these burdens he'd placed upon his brother's shoulders - rank, duty, the gritty end of friendship - weren't about to break him. "I need to bury Nora, properly. Get her out of that vault where she's on display to any scavver who goes down there. Help me carry her out, Mac." Vincent's tears came quietly forth. "I can't ask anyone else."

'Of course I'll help you' I answered without hesitation. I would have been insulted if Vin asked anyone else. If this is what Vin wanted to do, I'd be proud to help him. I patted him on the shoulder, his tears stopped mine from forming. He needed me now, I couldn't surrender to the luxury of my own sorrows.

Vincent whispered "Thankyou, Robert." Vincent pulled MacCready to him in a brief, manly embrace, patted him on the back and pulled away. He cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. "I promise you, when you say Duncan is fit enough to travel, you'll have a Lancer and Vertibird at your disposal to fetch him. If you both need some way to say goodbye to Lucy, maybe I can help with that too." Vincent noticed the forgotten meal, scraped a few ancient dried coffee grains into a couple of mugs and sloshed hot water in. He passed Mac the plate of iguana skewers and his coffee.

‘Thank you. I appreciate that.’ I sipped on the coffee, reflectively. I stared into the dregs. Lucy. I missed her. Normally I managed to keep her safely in a little-explored corner of my mind. Always there but not to be disturbed. She would have liked Vin. She would have been able to give him words of comfort that I never could. I ate my cold iguana chunks. Look at the two of us. Two sad widowers in a wrecked cabin, on the way to an enforced detox. But I was getting ahead of myself. There was the little matter of the Gunners to take care of first. With this thought in mind I decided to ask Vin the tactics he wanted to deploy taking Vault 95.

Vincent finished his meagre feast with a badly disguised look of distaste at the antiquated coffee. "There's a plateau above the vault door with a lookout post, but above and behind that, there's a rocky ridge. We gotta be careful, last time they'd posted Assaultrons near there and I'm damn sure there'll be more. Take their legs and eyelasers out at long range. You know the score. We go in top down and sweep the whole vault room by room before you even think of sittin' me in that fuckin' torture chair. When the area is secure, I'll hack the terminal but I'll need you to execute the command." At Mac's uncertain expression, Vin added, "Don't worry. It's a simple push-the-button command. Not even you could screw it up."

"Whatever happens, MacCready, I need to do this. Dammit, if you have to, knock me out cold but get me in that chair. We save the scavving for the way out unless you need ammo, understood?" The Sentinel-General was back. It was like he'd flipped a switch but underneath, Vincent knew how close to complete breakdown he really was. He threw down his bedroll and set a quiet alarm on his Pip-boy. "Up and at 'em at 4am, soldier. We get up that ridge before first light. Leave all unnecessaries here, we can come back and recoup." Vincent had a brief white-out and dizzy spell, so he laid down before MacCready could notice the telltale signs of Bufftats withdrawal.

Despite laying down with the feeling that I wouldn’t sleep a wink, it turns out that Vin woke me up. Must be something about this lakeside air that made people holiday here before the war. For once in my life I felt fully rested and ready to go. Which was just as well, because when we left the near darkness of the cabin and came out into open I had to prevent myself from opening my big mouth and putting my foot right in it. Vin, he looked like crap. In the light cast from his pip-boy his eyes were bloodshot with dark circles beneath them. Maybe I looked just as bad to him. I didn’t have the luxury of a mirror to check. We crept through the woodland, the trees damaged and spiky, and standing out starkly against the brightening sky. This was an increasingly desolate landscape, and by the time we were closing in on Vault 95 the landscape was barren, with a few wrecked tree trunks and bare rocks. Vin turned the light of his pip-boy off. We certainly didn’t want to advertise the fact we were here. Using the sparse cover available to us we moved forward until I could sight the rocky ridge Vin had spoken of. I took position on the ridge, taking out the two gunners manning the look out posts. After my shots had rung out, we listened into the silence. Listening for sound of an Assaultron spinning up. Our chances of survival that much higher if we could detect where they were before they found us. Vin gesticulated, and I cocked my head in the direction he indicated. Damn, the unmistakeable sound of an Assaultron. I readied a couple of mines, and placed them in the path I thought it most likely the assaultron would take, pointing out the locations to Vin as I did so. Didn’t want the Sentinel-General stepping on one of the mines I’d laid. So we waited, scanning the horizon, listening all the time.

Only a few seconds passed but in a highly charged situation like this that could feel like a life time. And there was the Assaultron, getting closer far more quickly that I’d like. Vin was already aiming. Thank fuck, but I also set my rifle at my shoulder and aimed. Vin took the first shot, dang, a clear miss, and now the Assaultron could locate us. Shit, shit, shit. I aimed, fired, managed to take the lower leg out. That would at least slow it down a bit. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled as a bullet whizzed past, Vin had fired again and this time he redeemed himself. A clear headshot on the Assaultron’s laser and that thing was all but done for. Just the final explosion to keep the heck away from. So we ducked behind the rocks, and within seconds a huge blast ripped through the air. One Assaultron down, hopefully no more left to go. We waited and listened a while longer.

Everything quiet. I disarmed the mines and returned them to my backpack. The rock face leading down to the lookout point was slippery with morning dew, but I managed to shimmy down without breaking my neck, and dropped down onto the lookout point. Vin took a little longer than I had, he was definitely not firing on all cylinders this morning. I almost chucked him a canister of Jet to perk him up a bit before I remembered that the whole point of being here in the first place was to get him off the chems. Oh well, waste not want not, I made sure I was hidden from Vin’s sight as I took just enough of the Jet to act as a ‘pick-me-up’. After all, I wasn’t the one with a problem. For once.

With the Gunner look outs already taken care of we were able to enter the Vault with no impediment. Once in the Vault, we had to move silently and quickly. With just the two of us and many more of them the only thing we had going in our favour was stealth and surprise. We took full advantage and worked through the Vault in a methodical, deadly manner. Vin seemed to have got his act together now, seemed completely focused on the task. Maybe now the end was in sight he had found hidden resources of strength deep within himself. The man was remarkable, I was in awe of the way he despatched Gunner after Gunner, before they even had a chance to raise the alarm. Realising I was just staring at Vin, I snapped to, yes, he was good, but I wasn’t here to gawp at him. I looked through my sights into the murky depths of the Vault canteen, aim, fire. Another Gunner bites the dust before he’d had the chance to even sample the breakfast on his tray. In this manner we cleared the whole vault. I insisted we completely check the Vault again from top to bottom, and Vin readily agreed. This was going to be hard enough without stray Gunners gate-crashing the party. Our search was thorough, extremely thorough. We had both drawn it out as long as we could. Eventually though the long put-off moment arrived. Me, Vin and the chair. My eyes met Vin’s. ‘Here we are then. Are you ready?’

Vincent stared at Mac for a second. "Hell, fuck no but let's do this detox shit." He went over to the terminal, tapped a few keys (thank Valentine for demystifying hacking!) and *beep*, he was in. "There you go, Mac. Once I'm sat down, just hit that key there." Mac read the instructions on the screen, memorised which key to poke and nodded. Vin went into the room, laid his pack on the floor and his weapons and armour on the table. He felt naked in just the Vault 88 suit and his boots. He tried not to look at the poised, sheathed needles as he sat down and put his head back. Through the glass he caught Mac's quizzical expression and he gave a small nod and closed his eyes. Pain flashed into him, his neck, up his spine. He was skewered by needles, clamped suddenly to that chair. It was a good job they were deep underground as Vincent screamed, long and loud. At first, it was the lion's roar of a big man in pain but as his muscles tightened, the pitch rose to a strangled, pathetic shriek, then...silence.

MacCready looked on, worried. The screen still flashed *Detox in progress. Please wait.* Vin wasn't moving. Was he still breathing? Mac left his post to check for signs of life. 

( _Vincent stood naked, hovering above the vault lift as it went down carrying Nora and Shaun away and the blast washed through him, white-hot and sudden, then the shockwave like a ring full of boxers punched him everywhere, all at once. He flew back through the wire gate, into his hometown where his neighbours were packing tatted rags into suitcases, smiling and waving to him as their flesh fell piece by piece to their feet. He was standing in a military graveyard. At each headstone, a milk bottle with a carrotflower stood and a milkman's hat upon each grave. A solitary Supermutant knelt, mourning. Bright, blinding white light, then a movie screen playing "'Gone with the Mushroom', Scenes from Staff Sergeant Hudson's Life". The pre-war past, in a speeded up movie trailer. Nora. Smiling sadly, waving goodbye. Someone's hand was on Vincent's shoulder. He spun round in slow motion to see 'Father' standing there in a Vault-Tec labcoat, with an expression of pure evil condescention. "You're no son of mine," Vincent spat, drew back his fist and decked the smug bastard, sending him to oblivion._ ) *Beep beep beep* Vin opened his eyes to shut that insistent beeping the fuck up. In front of him, sprawled on the floor, was Mac. He was holding a bloody nose, looking like a kid who'd lost his puppy.

I felt grave reservations as Vin settled himself into the detox chair. His face was pale and sickly looking, and sweat beaded on his brow. And this was before the damn thing had even started. Other concerns crowded my brain as I hovered my finger over the starting button. What if after all these years the chair didn’t work properly? What if it left Vin permanently damaged in some way? What if using it on Cait had been the last hurrah of this ancient piece of crap? I tried to rearrange my features into a reassuring placid smile, but the best I could manage was a hideous rictus grin that startled me as I saw it reflected back at me on the glass. Making a conscious effort to ‘just act natural’ I tried to let my facial muscles relax as I gazed at Vin, checking that he was ready and hadn’t changed his mind. With his slight nod as affirmation I pressed the button gingerly. The screaming and yelling started. Oh fuck, this was awful, worse than I’d ever imagined. I tried to block my ears, remembering Vin’s exhortations NOT to interrupt the process at any cost. Vin’s screams seemed to last a lifetime, and still the writing on the screen mocked me, glowing with a smug green clinical light that made me want to smash the screen. ‘Detox in progress. Please wait *’ ‘I am fucking waiting’ I mumbled to myself. I repeated it again. Louder. Abusing the machine somehow made me feel better.

Noticing the sudden silence from Vin put paid to any relief I had gained from my conversation with the terminal. I peered at him through the glass. He was motionless. _Oh fuck_ What if something really was amiss with the contraption? I better go and have a closer look. I made my way towards Vin, slowly, remembering he had told me not to approach him under any circumstances while the detox was in progress. _Any circumstances_. Well that was a pretty comprehensive order, but tough shit, with Vin in no position to retract the command it was down to me to make an executive decision. One which I swiftly regretted. As I reached to touch Vin’s shoulder his fist shot out at me, with superhuman force. Incomprehensible gibberish spouting from his mouth. His fist caught me squarely on the nose and I went down hard, sprawling on the cold unforgiving floor. Well, I was certainly sharing Vin’s pain now. As I turned my gaze to the chair, the needles started to withdraw and the clamps to retract, as the system beeped to indicate the process had finished. I gingerly moved towards Vin again, still clutching my nose. He seemed to be fully conscious. His eyes met mine. "Well, I did tell you not come near. You didn’t disobey my orders did you, Major MacCready?" I could see a twinkle in his eye that filled me with relief. ‘No sir…’ I played along. Happy my suffering was at least lightening the mood. I put my arm out in case Vin needed it as he rose from the chair, but he batted it away, "I’m not quite in my dotage yet, Major." I grinned, ‘Two hundred and something years old? I’d say that was pretty damn ancient.’ "Right.. yeah, well, much as I’d love to stay and banter all day Mac, let’s get as much valuable stuff as we can carry from this hell hole and get out of here." I readily agreed.


	6. Purging Ghosts 111

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vincent and MacCready escape to the safety of a nearby settlement but Vincent's life is about to be turned upside-down once more.

### Part Three, _'Vincentius Renovo'_

Vincent donned his white combat armour, adjusted belts, replaced weaponry and picked up the pack which as usual was already over half full. He and MacCready retraced their steps, slowly though. Vin made a show of searching carefully but Mac wasn't fooled. The chair had taken a toll on him. Red sores were visible past his collar, as though the tattooed eagle on his neck was shaking blood off its wings. 

It was dark when they finally emerged from the vault. Distant lights beckoned them towards the safety of the nearest settlement, Somerville Place. Vincent ran. Ran away from all the vaults he'd ever been to, away from the bodies, away from the red-tinged memories that stretched back to before he'd even bought the house with its white picket fence and sold his motorbike to buy Codsworth, for her. All he needed to focus on right now was that friendly campfire, a beacon of refuge, a promise of rest. He was shaking, branches threatening to trip him; the sound of MacCready's fleet footsteps and slight wheeze behind him. He'd sit by the fire and have a whiskey. No. Not even that. Water, Vim, Nuka but no alcohol. Not for a good long while. Bile rose in his throat, he stumbled, stopped to lean against a tree and puke. Just get it out. Get it all out. He spat and resumed his race, almost there. Almost there. 

The smell of the campfire wafted over him, a purifying cloud of sweet woodsmoke. His pace slowed and panting, he trotted down the slope. A settler raised a hand in greeting. Another spoke. Mac was suddenly there, saying something to the farmhands, Vincent didn't hear it. MacCready steered him to a chair by the fire and brought a cup of warm salty water to swill his mouth out, cleanse his bitten tongue. All Vin could do was stare at the flames, shivering even in the heat, seeing ghosts in the flickering light. Everything had sharp edges, memories tumbled over each other for attention, emotions whirling past too quickly to grab hold of and express. The silence lingered too long for the younger man, who spoke gently but insistently…

‘Hey, Vin, you there, buddy?’ I was still slightly concerned that the detox chair had produced some unwelcome side effects in my friend. Vin turned to me, his eyes glassy and blank, reflecting back the dancing firelight, staring at me as if I was a stranger. This didn’t do much to reassure me. ‘Vin?’ My voice was slightly louder now. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and keep talking at him until he was back to normal. That was my gut instinct. I resisted it, and gave Vin time to respond. I sat down beside him and continued to wait patiently for him to speak. No point panicking yet. He was probably exhausted, and trying to recover. The last thing he needed now was me totally losing my cool. 

"I'm real thirsty, Mac. Water?" Vincent blinked rapidly and there he was again, looking older than his thirty four unfrozen years. The firelight emphasized the gauntness of his cheeks, the lines around his eyes and the bags under them. Vin croaked again "Need a drink, man."

I was already on the case, badgering one of the settlers for some purified water. She fumbled around in a cupboard, and produced a can of water for me. I asked for a few more, just in case, and took them back to where Vin was sat by the fire. I fumbled with a ring pull, trembling slightly, but not even sure why. Once I’d managed to detach the lid I handed the can to Vin. ‘There you go.’ Vincent's hand shook as he took the proffered can and drank as if parched. Mac handed him another and that vanished quickly, though a fair amount ended up all over Vincent's now unkempt moustache.

He wiped a shaking arm across his mouth and shuddered. "That....that was..." He couldn't finish as another spasm wracked his body and he stood, turned and vomited on the ground. He fell to one knee and weakly called "Mac...Mac..." I rushed over to where Vin was stooped over, obviously and worryingly in pain. I took his arm and let him lean on me and guided him back to his seat. ‘Ok, ok, it’s ok… you just sit there and relax and let me take care of anything you need.’ I was in way out of my depth here, but I didn’t see anyone else stepping up to volunteer assistance so I’d have to just take Vin’s lead and do everything I could do make sure he wasn’t in too much discomfort. ‘Is there anything you need right now? Just relax, I’m here, whatever you want, you got it.’ I placed my hand on his lower arm, which was still trembling. I stroked his hand. The coldness and clamminess of his skin bothered me. If only there was a doctor at this settlement, I’d have gladly handed over the responsibility. But there wasn’t so I continued to hold Vin’s hand.

"Sorry, Mac. Your nose...." My nose? I’d forgotten about that. I raised my finger and prodded the bridge. It was sore and tender, and would probably sting a bit the next time I washed my face, but I’d survive. Nothing was broken as far as I could tell. ‘Forget it, Vin, it’s fine. You did warn me after all..’

John Somerville approached the two and suggested that they help Vincent up to a bed in the barn. It wasn't easy, being up two lots of metal stairs but the privacy it afforded was welcome. Between them, they got Vin on a bed, his right leg and hand shaking violently. John lit the firebarrel and left, with a promise to bring extra blankets and warm drinks.

Vincent was pale. He fumbled with the clasps on his combat armour but let his hand fall back onto to the bed, defeated. I batted his hands away, ‘Don’t Vin, let me do it, it may hurt a bit but I’ll do my best.’ My own hands shook as I fiddled with the metal toggles. It’s funny how what was so easy to do on my own body, with my own armour, was an almighty challenge on someone else’s body. I managed to remove his gauntlets and shoulder protectors after a couple of bodged attempts. I laid them down neatly by the side of the bed. I propped Vin up on a straw pillow and got one of the drinks that John had brought and helped Vin to drink it. He spluttered and tried to wrest the cup from my hand but I was insistent and he downed the tea in large messy gulps. I had no idea what was in it, but as I sipped my own tea I was grateful enough for it, however foul the taste might be. I decided that I couldn’t put off removing the chest plate any longer, Vin was starting to look sleepy, and I certainly didn’t want to wake him up once he _did_ fall asleep, so I perched awkwardly on the bed next to him and bent low over the buckles and catches and worked as quickly as I could do undo them. I eased the armour from Vin’s chest, and placed it with the other items I’d removed previously. There, that wasn’t so bad. I eased Vin down onto the pillow by placing my arms gently around his shoulders and taking his weight, and slowly lowering him. He attempted weak protests, but I’m pretty sure that his heart wasn’t really in it. Once he was fully horizontal I laid some of the blankets over him. His moustache stuck up in unruly tufts that he would never have tolerated under normal circumstances. I gently brushed the back of my hand along his cheek, above the ragged moustache. His cheek still felt clammy and cold beneath my touch. This was not good, but at least he was asleep now. I moved to a chair that stood opposite the bed. It wasn’t exactly comfortable but I was beyond caring. It had been a hell of a day, and it wasn’t over yet. Vin was dozing, not exactly sleeping like a baby, but sleeping nevertheless and I felt some relief at that. I sat in the chair watching the irregular rise and fall of his chest. I clung to my hope that a good night’s sleep would see Vin fully restored to his normal robust health. It was a slim hope, but at least while he slept I could kid myself that was all he needed and when the morning rolled round we’d both be setting off together laughing and joking, normality restored.

Vincent's eyes opened a fraction. A sunbeam played host to dancing motes. A wooden ceiling. A muffled conversation somewhere below. He blinked and opened his eyes a little further. Wisps of smoke from a brazier. The faint, slow breath-sounds of a nearby sleeper. Vincent tried to sit up and got as far as propping himself up on his elbows before the stiffness in his neck and rawness of his back halted his resurgence. MacCready sat near the bed in one of those curved, fashionable chairs that promised comfort but delivered stiff joints. He was sleeping, his head tilted back, a comic sprawled on his lap, his rifle cradled in one elbow. God, he looked young when his shrewd, expressive face was at rest. Vincent habitually reached up to stroke his horseshoe 'tache but was shocked when his hand met the beginnings of a full-on beard. "Mac. MacCready, wake up," Vincent shouted in what was intended to be a commanding voice. It came out rougher than Dogmeat's growl. Mac woke up, sat bolt upright and grabbed his rifle. 'Whassup? Wha...Vin? Vin! You're awake!' "If you could call it that. How long was I out?," he asked, rubbing the stunted shrubbery on his face. 'Two days, three nights.' MacCready got up and poured some water which Vincent gratefully sipped. Light steps upon the stair and a girls face, framed in a bob, popped up. "Did he wake up, Mr. Major MacCready, sir?" said the girl. "Hey there, Maggie," Vin managed. "Stay right there Senital General sir. I'll bring soup." Vin managed a half smile and MacCready nodded in thanks. "Ow. Damn back feels like I'm being slow roasted. Help me strip this suit down and take a peep would you Mac?"

Well, he was awake. That was something I suppose. I wouldn’t say he was exactly back to normal though, far from it. The stilted way he moved spoke of sore limbs and pain. After that first night it had become pretty apparent we wouldn’t be skipping off into the sunset anytime soon. I’d soon realised Vin’s recovery was not going to be instantaneous and so it had proven. The last couple of days had been amongst the longest of my life. We were stuck in this goddamn hole in the back of beyond. Vin really needed a doctor, even I could see that, but moving him was out of the question. I’d tried repeatedly to get in radio contact with the Prydwen, but the signal just wasn’t reaching. John Somerville had tried to explain that the radio only really worked when atmospheric conditions were optimal. Great, that was zero help to me. So, I kept trying. That had been more or less my only occupation apart from looking on helplessly as Vin slept fretfully and cried out in the depths of lonely nightmares. But, at least he was awake now. I went over to him and helped remove the suit. I’ve seen and dealt with plenty of battle wounds in my time, who hasn’t? Didn’t mean I wasn’t squeamish though. My eyes were half shut as we peeled the layers away. That in itself must have been agony, the way the fabric stuck to the sore flesh made me cringe in empathy. What lay beneath was even worse. These wounds didn’t look like they were healing at all. There should have been some improvement by now, surely? Feeling like an idiot, I tried to casually ask Vin if he knew any way to boost the radio signal, I mean, it didn’t seem fitting somehow that my first conversation with him was about radio masts. I had no choice though, Vin needed more help than me or a bowl of soup could provide.

Vincent gulped down some more water. "It's the frequency. Call Saxon at the Castle, get him to..ah!.. pass a message on." Vincent rolled fully onto his front, exposing the sore, crusty rings of infection clustering around all but one of the injection sites. The two punctures on his neck were barely visible, thankfully. Mac looked at the state of the Vault suit and his vest. They were in dire need of a boil wash, so apologetically he tugged off Vin's boots and the legs of the jumpsuit, leaving him exposed in his underpants. The past year in this wasteland and the addition of a small gym in his Diamond City pad had given Vincent an impressive physique. Mac couldn't help but let his eyes linger for a moment.

Now Vin was on his front, his head resting sideways on the pillow, there was no need to mask my stares. I didn’t have to distract Vin as I as I had done so many times in the past, so my eyes wouldn’t betray me. Feelings I couldn’t acknowledge even to myself. Not now, not ever. I knew my longing; my need must be written all over my face for anyone with eyes to see. All they had to do was look. So, I must make sure Vin didn’t look. I spoke, silly random noises, just to fill the air between us. Ridiculous small talk about the radio frequency. Vin wasn’t listening, I know he wasn’t but I don’t even know what I was doing at that point. I dipped the clean rag into the basin of water. As I delicately wrung the excess water, I hesitated to touch the cloth to his skin. All I was doing was bathing his wounds, why should I feel hesitant about that? The intimacy, the sheer intimacy. Vin’s vulnerability, his wounds, made me feel unbelievably tender towards this big bear of a man brought low. I brushed the wet rag softly over the least red and angry looking sore. A little firmer now, Vin confirming with a soft murmur, the pain was bearable. One hand cleaning the wound, the other resting lightly on Vin’s torso, stabilising me. His skin was warm and yielding where my hand rested. I felt the urge to smooth my hand over his lightly tanned skin, to trace the outline of the tattoos on his arms. That would be a mistake. So my eyes traced the delicate lines over his skin instead of my fingers. "Everything all right, Mac?" Vin’s enquiry out of the blue made me start. ‘Fine…’ my voice sounded strangely strangulated to my own ears, but Vin didn’t seem to sense anything amiss in our exchange. I carried on dabbing his wounds with the rag. Dabbing and wringing, strangely hypnotic I settled into a soothing rhythm, only interrupted by Vin’s occasional sharp intake of breath when I touched on a particularly sore and tender area. All too soon when I dipped the rag into the water the basin contained only a few drops. Time for a break. I murmured to Vin that I needed to get more water, but I couldn’t tell if he was asleep, as his chest rose and fell regularly. I left the room as quietly as I could, trying to dull the clang of my heavy boots on the metal stair as best I could. I’d get the water and see what I could do about the radio now I had Vin’s instructions still ringing in my ears.

Vincent lay there for a moment as he heard Mac sneak downstairs. It had been a very long time since he'd felt like this: relaxed, pain notwithstanding. He'd enjoyed his companion's gentle ministrations and had to admit to himself that besides Tess, Robert Joseph MacCready was probably the closest and dearest friend that he had. Something was up, though. Vin could tell when Mac wasn't saying everything he was thinking. Maybe when he felt more like talking he'd sit him down and try and gently tease it out of him. The handle of Vin's knife was visible from where he lay, sticking out of its sheath on top of the neat pile of his belongings. He reached out a heavy arm and drew it. Next, he awkwardly rolled over and pulled himself up, poured little of the remaining, still warm, bloodleaf tea on a rag and held it to his chin for a moment. He was just about to put blade to unwanted beard when suddenly, MacCready was there, grabbing his trembling wrist. "What the ff...feral's butt do you think you're doing?" Vincent looked at him with an expression of surprise and confused guilt. "I'm just tryin' to have a shave, man. What's your problem?" Mac held Vincent's hand in front of his eyes. "This is!" Only then did Vin realise just how much he was shaking. Mac had probably just stopped him from cutting his own throat. 

I tried to hide my shock and concern under a jocular veneer, ‘I don’t know Vin, I leave you for what? 5 minutes and you nearly cut your own darn throat. Here. Let me do it…’ Vin looked at me, just itching to make the obvious joke, so I beat him to it. ‘Shave you… not cut your throat… ha ha ha.’ Even to my own ears that laugh sounded lame and fake. And so I talked myself into offering more personal services to Vin. Only this time there was no avoiding his eyes. I could hardly shave his face without looking at him, or I’d really be ending up cutting his throat. Right, deep breath, man up. I was shaving his face, not kissing him for god’s sake. OK, that was probably another mistake. Why did I have to go and think about kissing him? I lathered up some shaving lubricant, an unholy mix of soap and razorgrain oil. It smelt nasty, and tasted even worse so I’d have to make sure I didn’t get any near Vin’s mouth. I took my time, the oil and soap mix emulsifying as it warmed in my hands, something mundane and normal. Once the mix took a creamy hue and squelched between my kneading hands I knew it was ready. ‘Right, hold still…’ Ah, barking orders at a superior officer, there was a certain satisfaction in that, I admit. Nice to see Vin submissive, at my mercy for once. Vin lifted a shaking hand protectively and said, " You mess up the 'tache an' I'll stick your scope so far up your access tunnel that lookin' through it'll be like tryin' to pick up a turd by its clean end!" His mouth twitched in a one-sided grin as he lifted his chin, exhausted by his own banter.

I massaged the oil into his face, avoiding eye contact at all costs. I worked quickly, efficiently. Vin could have no complaints. Maybe I missed my vocation, should set up a nice little side venture on the Prydwen, bring in a few extra caps. I moved back slightly, to survey my handiwork and wipe off the remaining small scraps of oil. Big mistake. Our eyes met for a split second. Neither of us broke the stare. The split second became a few seconds. I was the first to look away. ‘Eurgh, all done now…’ I wiped the knife with a flourish and put it back in its sheath. But of course I was far from done. The oil still clung in sticky patches on the perfect moustache I had brought back from the dead. Here we go again, up close and personal and me straddling Vincent administering a wet rag to his face with soft gentle motions and his breath in my ear.

Vincent noticed MacCready's natural scent for the first time. He must have washed and laundered his clothes, too, whilst Vin had been unconscious. It was pleasant, savoury with a hint of woodsmoke, warm steel and cigarettes. He'd never been drawn to guys, not in that way but right now he needed comfort. He needed release and was too sore and stiff to help himself. Not to mention the...what had McKinley called it? Myoclonic jerks, those episodes of involuntary shaking that had come on with the Post Combat Stress. Yeah, he thought. I'm a myoclonic jerk, alright. He silently cursed his dick for its terrible timing. He trusted Mac, he felt so close to the younger man but couldn't find the right word for their relationship. Brother, well that was close but too familial. He wasn't a boyfriend, Vin was a ladies' man for sure. But....just this once... he felt the blood rush to his groin, felt himself swell and his cheeks flush with embarrassed longing. His right hand and leg increased their involuntary shaking. Vin turned his face away from Mac and muttered, "I need...I can't do this for myself right now. I want..." There was no way he could finish that sentence. His heart pounded, pain forgotten in the contraction of that moment. His thoughts raced. 'Way to lose a friendship, Vin what the fuck are you doing, you've no right to ask this, I'll never live this shit down, I'm no Rocket sixty-niner, hope he didn't hear me...' But Mac _had_ heard him.

My head whipped round. Did Vin just say what I thought he had? His erection was undeniable, the elephant in the room, which I’d been conspiratorially ignoring, but the way the sheet bulged around his groin told its own story. Why the fuck did he have to draw attention to it, unless he was in earnest? Ok, I need to stay cool, stay cool. Just a friend helping a friend. No biggy. This must have happened all the time in the pre-war army. Mustn’t it? Yeah, it must have done otherwise Vin wouldn’t even be asking. ‘You need a hand then?’ I forced what must have been a rictus grin. Just a friendly little gesture, that was all. Vin wanted me to jerk him off. _Wanted_. That little word in my mind enough to get my own pulse racing and my body starting to leave embarrassment somewhere along the wayside. I wondered to myself how these things were done pre-war days. Oh fuck it, I’m pretty sure dicks haven’t changed any in 200 years, well I’d soon find out. Vin hadn’t answered my question, but was gazing at me, a glazed expression in his eyes. I started to tentatively draw back the thin sheet, half expecting my hands to be slapped and Vin’s voice to ring out demanding what the hell was I doing. No shout was forthcoming; a strangulated gasp was the only sound issuing from Vin’s lips. So, he really wanted this then? I know I did. I tried not to gawp as I released his cock from the confines of the thin white briefs. My eyes tried to meet his. I wanted to check this was exactly what he wanted. He said nothing, his eyes downcast, and his cheeks with a rubicund glow to them, at odds with the pallor of his illness. I curled my fist along his length, still half expecting a reprimand, a recoil. Nothing, just a gasp, my hands probably feeling icy cool on his warmth. I started to glide my hand along his shaft, gently pumping. A release was what he desired. He had said as much. So I concentrated my energy into stimulating him, my other arm unfettered, somehow found its way so I was stroking his cheek, my fingers smoothing his moustache. As his eyes finally found mine, I moved my arm away, I felt my cheeks warm and flushed. Vin was probably wondering what the fuck I was doing. From thereon out it was pure instinct, primal, intellectual reasoning lost in the fevered air. My hand working in rapid strokes, Vin’s breath coming in shallow gasps. His body tensed, and a long groan from his lips as he found his release. My hand covered in milky white fluid, still warm and rapidly cooling. And Vin’s head dipping down to his chest, I kissed him on the cheek, a feathery light kiss. I held him close to me for a few heartbeats, before the moment was lost. Vin making noises about cleaning up, and me scurrying for a rag.

Vincent was looking everywhere but at MacCready when he quietly said "Sorry, Mac." MacCready said nothing, at least, nothing Vin could hear. Now where did he stand with his friend and brother-in-arms? Had he just crossed a line? What did this mean?

‘Eh?’ My face must have looked as puzzled as I felt. I still couldn’t quite comprehend this whole strange development. _What just happened?_ I looked to Vin for reassurance, but he was still not meeting my eye.

Vincent's cheeks burned as a strange mixture of relief and dread filled him. The heat did not dissipate as he'd expected but instead ignited a fever, a weapon barbarously wielded by his body, still furiously fighting the infection. He reached out for Mac but the wave of heat was too much and he sank into unconsciousness once more.


	7. Ingram's Mission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proctor Ingram rushes to meet Sentinel-General Vincent but he isn't where she expected him to be.

Proctor Ingram finished packing a small crate of supplies and secured the catch. The young Squire stood to attention, his face hardly suppressing a grin. He could only just be in his teens. Adult responsibilities came early in the Brotherhood.

"You'll be safe, Proctor. Don't worry, the Sentinel-General had my back at that Hubris location, you're in good hands."

"Well, thankyou for the reassurance, Squire Williams. Take this to Elder Maxson, would you?" She handed over a small, locked flight case. Arthur would appreciate the Bourbon and Stogies, the least she could do to thank him for his kindness. 

The lad saluted, fist on heart and scampered off. Ingram hefted the crate and wound her way through the Prydwen to board the waiting Vertibird. 

***

Colonel Garvey maneuvered the Fat Man off his shoulder and passed it to the Minuteman who had come to relieve him. He shielded his eyes from both sun and wind-borne dust as the expected aircraft came to rest on the makeshift landing pad atop the fortress wall.

A figure in a power armour frame hopped out, dislodged a container and signalled to the lancer who took off again. Preston smiled and tipped his hat as the two walked to meet each other.

"Good to see you, Proctor, ma'am."

"Likewise, Paladin-Colonel."

"Follow me, please." Preston led Ingram to the General's Quarters. He gestured to a seat. 

"It's a nice chair, Garvey but I'd break it if I tried to park this rig on it." Ingram shifted slightly in the modified power armour frame that made up somewhat for her lost legs.

"Oh, my apologies. Now, how can I help?"

"I have orders to report to the Sentinel-General. I understood he was here?" Ingram looked around, expectantly. 

Preston raised a finger and went over to close the large doors. "I'm afraid you've just missed him ma'am." 

"Call me 'Gertrude', Preston please."  
(Not Tess. At least, not until she knew him much better. Too personal. Vincent was one of the very few she allowed that close.) "Where is he?"Preston recognised the honour of being granted the use of her first name and was flattered. "Thankyou, Gertrude. He and Knight-Major MacCready left on a....personal mission."

"Can you divulge more information, Colonel?" Preston recognised the incomplete switch back to formalities; she had used his Minuteman rank yet omitted his Brotherhood appellation. A mark of respect and friendly curiosity.

"I hesitate to violate the man's privacy but I will say that it was for the sake of his wellbeing."

This had Tess worried. His wellbeing? Was he ill? She knew that Vin had old scars and new emotional wounds weighing heavy on him but was there more to it? This was awkward. She desperately wanted to be by his side and had orders to do just that but could not immediately obey them. 

"Their E.T.A.?" she queried. "A couple days, three at the most." Preston clasped his hands behind his back.

"Very well, please arrange quarters and send for Scribe Taylor to assist me. I'll wait. In the meantime, point me at anything you need me to check over."

"Certainly, ma'am." 

Tess smiled at Garvey's reflexive politeness.

****

Three days passed. Then four. Still no sign or word of the Sentinel and his companion. Proctor Ingram had overhauled all the generators, checked old wiring, put in a long list of materials, improvements and safety measures to the most practical Minuteman, Gerrard (whilst swearing about the lack of basic support crew available) and was now stomping impatiently around.  
She'd offered to check the radio mast but Saxon was more than a pleasant voice. He knew his broadcasting equipment and maintained it well. So, Ingram retreated to the armoury and with Ronnie Shaw's assistance and genial banter, she tinkered fretfully with her modified power frame.

The call finally came through, though not in the usual way. 

Cait sat alone in the bunk room with the doors closed, booted feet resting on the desk, swigging a beer and stitching the patch back on her trouser leg. Diamond City Radio blared out, not quite masking the infuriating fiddle music of Radio Freedom.

She was singing merrily along to 'Butcher Pete' when the track stopped mid-chorus and Travis' voice piped up, sounding more like his old, anxiety ridden self.  
"Ah, sorry folks but we have a slight emergency. Could a Brotherhood medical team please report to location SWSP-0111-4. VH down, needs immediate assistance. Repeat..."  
Cait kicked her boots off, pulled her skinny trousers on half-mended and ran barefoot to find Preston in the 'field' just outside the castle wall.He knew something was up by the scowl on Cait's face. "Vin's down. He needs a doc flown to him out the Prydwen. Think the place code was Somerville, best check that. They havin' radstorm interference again? Heard the call off DC Radio. Sir." Preston dropped his trowel and ran to the radio mast.  
"Saxon, get DCR up." "Yessir." They heard the message, the Colonel ordered Saxon to relay it to the Prydwen knowing that none of the Brotherhood would be listening in to Travis 'Lonely' Miles and then ordered a 'message received' to be passed on immediately to Travis so that he could carry on as usual.  


Proctor Ingram emerged from the armoury and Preston caught her attention. " We've just received a message relay request from Somerville Place asking for an emergency airlift for the Sentinel-General. No details at this time. I've requested a med-team vertibird despatched immediately." He lowered his voice. "Go to him, Gertrude. I asked for the Lancer to collect you on the way."

Tess gave Preston a worried but grateful smile, briefly wondering when Vin had had time to tell anyone about their new relationship, ducked back to the armoury to collect a weapon then stormed up the stone stairs to wait fretfully at the landing pad. 

***  
Vincent slipped back into unconsciousness, fever raging. Stimpaks could only do so much, miracle-healers though they were. Mac, sleeves rolled up, changed the cold cloth for the umpteenth time. The infected puncture wounds down his spine looked angry, despite MacCready's battlefield medic skills.

'Come ooooon, Doc, where the glowing fuck-turd are you?' he said under his breath. Vin groaned in pain. 'I got ya, pal, don't worry. Help is on it's way. Not much longer now. (I hope)', he added quietly.

Mac was panicking. He'd never seen illness like this without somebody _not_ living through it. Usually, illness was down to infection from a wound rather than an invisible cause. Radiation had almost wiped out the common cold and had ended a few nastier viruses besides. Those needles in that nightmare-chair must have been tainted. 

At last, he heard the whir of blades and an engine nearby, loud through the wooden walls. Feet hitting the ground, voices barking commands, John Somerville's worried shout "In there!"

Knight-Captain Cade and two other medics ran up the stairs.'About time, too,' growled MacCready, lucky that he just outranked the doctor and could get away with being snappy.

Cade knelt by Vin's side, took out some unrecogniseable medical equipment and ran quick tests, all the while his frown deepening. He grilled MacCready on the details of the last few days and then sat back with a sigh and rubbed his forehead for a moment. 

"Scribe, what is the best local medical facility in the Commonwealth at the moment?" "On file we have...Vault 81 or...the new hospital up at Sanctuary, sir." "Most experienced medical personnel on file?" "Aside from yourself, sir, Viral specialist, Doctor Amelie Curie, rank pending."

"Get him on the gurney, no, on his back for now," ordered Cade. Vin was hurried out and loaded on to the waiting vertibird where Ingram stood, buckled in ready for takeoff. Mac tried to board the crowded 'bird but the Lancer shouted over his shoulder, "Sorry, sir, we're at capacity. I'll send another."

Mac stepped back, crestfallen. Tess saw his face and called out, "Don't worry Mac. I've got him!" 

MacCready just stood and watched the vertibird curve away into the burgeoning night.

**Author's Note:**

> Thankyou so much for reading! I would really love to hear what you think (no, I don't mean developing telepathy, MacCready - you're such a geek. I mean reading people's comments!)


End file.
